


In the Morning, I'm Making Waffles

by tisfan



Series: Sarcasm Prompts [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 21:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17312597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Sarcasm prompt 105, Winteriron, for anon “I’m just going to pack up and go straight to hell now.”





	In the Morning, I'm Making Waffles

**Author's Note:**

> (this one was a solo effort, as @27dragons was getting her car fixed this morning and I had this dream last night – that RDJ was in my kitchen cooking waffles, so I wanted to jot it down)
> 
> A/n – Song is Heaven, by Julia Michaels

Bucky stretched in the soft sheets, blankets tangled around his legs. There were piles of scattered pillows across the top of the bed and he had to move a few to verify what his nose and super-hearing had already told him.

The other side of the bed was empty, but the sheets were in disarray. Bucky slid his hand over, searching for any trace of his lover. If it had just been a very intense dream, he was going to be crushed.

There was no body heat, but the sheets held _his_ scent, and there were a few dark hairs on the pillow. And, as Bucky slowly peeled himself out of the bed, he noticed a few less mentionable stains on the sheets.

Not to mention the fact that he was decidedly not in his own room, which gave weight to the theory that last night had, in fact, _happened_. Bucky did a double-take around the room to make sure he wasn’t about to humiliate himself and then fist-pumped wildly. _Yes, yes, yes!_

“Love's my religion but he was my faith…”

Bucky could hear someone singing from the other side of the penthouse, melodic and sweet. He let himself drop out of bed and scramble around for his clothes. He found his jeans half shoved under the bed, but had no idea where his drawers had ended up. Didn’t matter. He stepped into his pants and very carefully zipped. His shirt was hanging off the doorknob and there were some metallic scrapes on the wall there from where Tony had knocked him into the wall and they’d rutted desperately against each other.

Bucky ran wondering fingers over the marks. _Hot damn._

“... Something so sacred so hard to replace,” Tony was still singing, unaccompanied. Bucky left the shirt where it was, he didn’t need it. “Fallin' for him was like fallin' from grace.”

Bucky scratched his head, shaking out the tangles and followed his ears. Once he got out into the public areas, he could follow his _nose_. Coffee and-- he sniffed again. Waffles? Pancakes? Some sort of breakfast food, at any rate.

“All wrapped in one he was so many sins. Would have done anything everything for him,” Tony was still singing, working in the kitchen. A waffle iron was emitting steam and there was a stack of cakes on the platter at Tony’s elbow. On the other side of the iron, an enormous measuring cup was serving as a batter bowl.

Tony was wearing a pair of baggy pyjama pants, the string barely doing service to keep them up on his hips. His hair stood up in wild spikes on top of his head and his back, hip, and shoulders were dotted with obvious suck-bruises.

The pants dipped low as Tony swivelled his hips, dancing along with his own singing, showing off the very top of his crack, the soft material clinging to his ass like a dream. “And if you ask me I would do it again,” he sang.

Bucky’s legs went weak in the knees. The most feared assassin in a century and he was utterly undone by a perky ass and the genius hurricane that was Tony Stark.

“No need to imagine, 'Cause I know it's true,” Tony sang, “They say all good boys go to heaven, But bad boys bring heaven to you…”

Tony turned his attention to a few bowls of fruit, cutting up strawberries. He dipped his finger into the bowl in front of the mixer and licked freshly whipped cream off his knuckle.

Oh, _god_ , Bucky was going to die, that was it, he was going to straight up _die_.

Bucky arranged himself against the doorframe as if he was being suave, cooly sensual, and _not_ having trouble staying off his knees. “You like bad boys, do ya, dollface?” Bucky inquired.

“Who said I wasn’t singing about myself?” Tony didn’t jump or whirl around, throwing the line over his shoulder. “I made waffles.”

“So I smell,” Bucky said, moving across the kitchen with purpose. With intent. “Rather have _you_ for breakfast.” He was practically purring as he stuck his nose in the crook of Tony’s neck and licked his throat for emphasis.

“If you’re a good boy and eat breakfast, I’ll--”

“Nope,” Bucky said, decisively, plucking the spatula from Tony’s hand and throwing it in the sink. With his free hand, he jerked the waffleiron plug out of the wall. “I’m just gonna pack up and go straight to hell now.” He growled against Tony’s lips, “and I’m taking you with me.”


End file.
